


Ultralife

by allthisandheaven_too



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Carmilla Big Bang, Carmilla Big Bang 2017, F/F, post-series finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-27 18:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthisandheaven_too/pseuds/allthisandheaven_too
Summary: Blood running in my veinsI've never been here beforeAnd I've got love falling like the rainI never could've asked for moreI've got so much soul inside my bonesTake a look at me nowI'm young, forever in the sunEver since you came, I'm living ultralife—Oh Wonder, "Ultralife"* * *It's over.It's really over.They're finally safe.No mothers or sisters. No prophecies or missing girls. No gods or gates to hell.And no camera.They can live.So they do.* * *My love letter to the Carmilla Series.





	Ultralife

**Author's Note:**

> This is my story for the 2017 Carmilla Big Bang (posted a tad late due to personal stuff but oh well it's here now)!! I've had this idea in my head since season two and I'm really proud of how it turned out. This is sort of my ode to the Carmilla series, as it has changed my life in ways I could have never imagined. And for that I am eternally grateful.
> 
> The embedded artwork was done by the wonderful, spectacularly talented Kelyn (taikoturtle on tumblr). She's illustrated way more scenes from this story than the ones that I've included, and you can find those on her tumblr. They're BEAUTIFUL and all identical to how I imagined the scenes playing out in my head, and I do mean IDENTICAL. Please show her major love <3 <3

It's over.

It's really over.

They're finally safe.

No mothers or sisters. No prophecies or missing girls. No gods or gates to hell.

And no camera.

They can live.

So they do.

* * *

The first night is the hardest.

They're at Laura's childhood home, in a decent-sized town a few hours' drive from Silas. At midnight, after Laura's father has long since fallen asleep, they sneak out of Laura's bedroom window and climb up to the flattest part of the roof with the intention of stargazing. Laura spreads out a blanket and pillows and cracks open a bottle of champagne. It's all very nice. Only, they are no longer in the wilds of Austria. There's streetlights and buildings and Carmilla's sight is not what it once was. The stars, her stars, are only slight pinpricks, barely discernible through the haze of light pollution. Which, she notes bitterly, had never been a problem before.

Through wars and loss and heartbreak, the stars had always been there. Her vision could cut through dust and smoke or any other sort of thing that would obscure them to human eyes to see them shining, clear and crisp. They would always shine for her.

And now, they do not.

Her heart clenches and that by itself is hard enough to deal with. It hasn't done that for three hundred years. She leans forward, hand clutching at her chest.

"Carm?" Laura is looking at her with concern.

Carmilla doesn't speak for some time. She squints at the sky and hopes to be wrong. Perhaps a cloud has just passed in front of them.

Deep down she knows the truth. And it is breaking her all over again.

Start her heart, only to shatter it.

"Carm," Laura says. She places her fingers beneath Carmilla's jawline, gently tilts her head up.

The tears don't surprise her. She sighs and opens her arms.

Carmilla moves forward into them. "They're gone," she whispers as Laura's arms wrap around her.

"Who?"

"My stars." She buries her face in Laura's neck. "They're gone."

Laura doesn't need to hear another word. She holds Carmilla until she calms some, then rises and packs away the blankets and pillows and corks the champagne. They climb back through the bedroom window and into bed.

Even with Laura's constant heat against her, Carmilla cannot stop crying. She sobs harder than Laura’s ever heard in her life (save when Laura died, of course).

Laura can’t stand to see her in so much pain. Not again, not so soon.

“Tomorrow,” she says.

Carmilla stares at her, confused at the total lack of context, and wipes her eyes. “W-What?”

“We leave tomorrow.”

They’re going to travel the world. Carmilla promised her they would, as soon as their kiss broke after Laura came back to life. _Anywhere you like, my love. Anywhere you like._

And the best part? Completely financed by Carmilla's mother's money, which Carmilla had inherited, being the last (ex)vampire left to claim it.

The how and the why are already set. It was the "when" that they hadn't yet hammered out.

Until now.

Carmilla’s lips part and hang there for a few moments as her tears slow to a stop. “Laura, are you sure?”

Laura just grins.

* * *

Paris is first.

A little run-down apartment in the picturesque neighborhood of Montmartre. It's white, light, airy. Barely any furniture. A bed, a kitchen table, a few chairs. Old hardwood floors.

They do what Laura said she wanted, that day that feels like years ago. Chocolate croissants. Simone de Beauvoir. Sex. More chocolate croissants. More sex.

Mind-blowing, back-arching, heart-pounding sex.

It is the city of love, after all.

It shows on Carmilla's skin now. Laura delights in this, gleefully nipping at every empty patch of skin. Carmilla just gasps.

Because now that's a thing she can do.

She can breathe. She can run out of breath. She can grow tired.

Laura very much appears to like making her tired.

Carmilla, hanging over her, dark hair falling to tickle her cheeks. Panting. Lungs inflating, deflating. Needing to "take a breather."

Laura doesn't tire of running her hands over Carmilla's chest as she hovers just above her in the twilight. Her fingers twitch, relishing in the feeling of Carmilla's heart pulsing with life just under her skin.

In the haze of the early morning, when they're still intertwined beneath the down comforter, Carmilla teaches her French.

_"Je t'aime."_

Laura giggles and rolls on her side, pulls the comforter tight under her arm. "Say it again."

Or at least, Carmilla tries to teach her, anyway.

Just the slightest bit of sunshine comes through the window over the head of the bed, falling at an angle to their feet. Carmilla smiles drowsily. _"Je t'aime,"_ she murmurs. _"Je t'aime, je t'aime."_ Sleep drips from her every word.

Her accent makes Laura go weak. She reaches out and twirls a strand of Carmilla's hair, stark coal against the blinding white of the pillows and sheets.

"Je t'aime," she whispers.

Totally butchering it.

Somehow.

It's not that complicated of a word. But leave it to Laura Hollis to accomplish the impossible.

Carmilla's eyes are closed. Her lips quirk in a not-quite smile. "Almost."

Laura huffs. "Not all of us had three hundred years to learn French."

Carmilla opens a single eye. "Not all of us are too stubborn to try to learn French," she fires back.

"Hey, I _am_  trying!" Laura is exuding indignation.

Carmilla laughs. " 'Say it again, Carmilla! Say it again!' " she mocks.

Laura scrunches up her face and sticks out her tongue. Carmilla leans forward, nuzzles her nose against Laura's. _"_ _Ma cherie."_

"'My dear?'"

"Mm." Carmilla kisses her.

"Je t'aime." A bit better.

Carmilla smiles, blinks slowly. "Good."

"Good?"

"Bonne." Kiss. "Magnifique." Kiss. "Incroyable." Kiss.

Laura squirms and laughs. "Stop, stop!"

"Say it,"—kiss—"in french."

"What?"

"Tell me to stop,"—kiss—"in french."

Laura is laughing so hard. Carmilla's kissing her neck, her shoulder, her ear. It tickles like mad and she laughs and laughs.

"I can't," she gasps between giggles. "You didn't– you didn't teach me– how."

_"Arrêtes."_

"Arretes!" Laura cries, and it's so bad it makes her feel embarrassed on the part of all the french. "Arretes!" She can't scrape her r's and now it's Carmilla who's laughing, thoroughly amused by her botched pronunciation.

At least it got her to stop.

 _"Ar-rrrr-êtes,"_ Carmilla purrs. _"Arr-rrrrr-êtes."_

Laura shivers. Her pupils dilate.

Carmilla notices.

And there goes their morning.

Finally, Laura drags herself out of bed amid strong protests from Carmilla, throws on a shirt, and goes to makes breakfast in their small kitchen. Cocoa for her and coffee for Carmilla. Leftover croissants and the jam they bought at the farmer’s market yesterday.

Carmilla finally emerges from the bedroom, tempted by the scent of the coffee. She hasn’t bothered with a shirt and instead preferred to wrap the entire comforter around her.

Laura frowns. “Don’t drag it on the ground like that. It’ll get filthy.”

Carmilla waves a hand. “It’s already filthy.”

Laura takes the croissants out of the oven where she warmed them, so her blushing can be attributed to the sudden rush of heat. This place is so old-fashioned it doesn’t even have a microwave. “Whatever.”

Carmilla takes a seat at the table and gazes out the large window to her right. She can see almost all of Montmartre from here, the huge domes and spires of the Basilica de la Sacré Cœur looming in the distance. It’s different from her last visit, so many years ago, but not much. Just a little bigger, just a little less whimsical. But not much. It’s the least changed part of Paris, in her opinion. That’s why she's brought Laura here, so she can experience almost exactly what Carmilla had once.

Laura brings the food over and they eat in silence, just enjoying the existence of each other and of chocolate croissants. Neither can imagine a world where this is not the definition of perfection. And every day is like this. Every day is perfect.

They do what Carmilla never said she wanted. The Eiffel Tower. Cliche, she knows. But romantic. Because now, with her mother gone and her heart beating, she can afford to indulge herself in romance.

Romance. A dream previously overshadowed by a cloud of nihilism and hopelessness she never in her wildest fantasies imagined she would ever be able to escape.

Standing at the top, gazing out over the city, Carmilla cries.

She’s been doing that a lot lately.

She’s gone soft. It must be the whole human thing.

Laura kisses her and tells her she loves her, in near-perfect french.

Maybe it’s the whole Laura thing.

Carmilla turns to face her, tears glistening in her eyes, drying on her face. She speaks in a reverent whisper. "Someday, I'm going to marry you.”

It's not a proposal. There's no ring, no sense of urgency. It's just a statement of a fact. It's inevitable, and they both know it. But it's not a proposal.

When she actually proposes, it will be grander than this.

She couldn't know that Laura was thinking the same thing when she smiled and nodded. "I know."

* * *

London is only a train ride away, technically, so they go there next.

Carmilla and her claustrophobia would rather not be awake for a two-hour journey in a glorified tin can hurtling down a concrete tunnel with thousands of pounds of water pressing down upon them constantly. Laura understands this. So she doesn't protest when Carmilla takes two sleeping pills and immediately falls unconscious within seconds of sitting down in her seat. She's cute when she sleeps, anyway. Even cuter when her head rests on Laura's shoulder and she mumbles Laura's name in her sleep, for once without any terror and instead a little smile on her face.

Paris was a month and a half, probably more. The days there all blurred together after a while. They don't stay in London for nearly as long. Two weeks, maybe.

Laura wants to do a lot of touristy things. Big Ben, the Eye, Buckingham Palace. She takes a lot of pictures, too. Her favorite is the one she snaps of Carmilla outside of the palace at the exact second she tells Carmilla that she reminds her of the stoic guards. The pure indignation on her face incites a fit of giggles on Laura's part that doesn't stop for several minutes.

Carmilla prefers less mainstream locales. She takes Laura to the venue where she and Mattie saw The Cure back in 1970, before they made it big. Mattie had managed to sneak her off campus and return her a day later without their mother noticing. They had been so close Carmilla could have reached out and touched Robert Smith. She didn't, but she did drink from him a bit after the show. His blood was bitter. Smooth.

He was into it. Because of course he was.

 _Probably wrote a song about it too,_ Carmilla reminisces.

Carmilla never liked many of the pop-punk 80s bands. She found them to be whiny and contrived. But there was something about The Cure that kept her coming back to see them, year after year, whenever their UK tours began. Mattie would sneak her away from their mother like she had the very first time and they would dance the night away and Carmilla would try to forget the lack of a life she had to return to only hours later.

As they sip their drinks in the dingy bar, a vaguely familiar song begins to play.

_Show me show me show me how you do that trick, the one that makes me scream, she said_

_The one that makes me laugh, she said_

_and threw her arms around my neck_

Carmilla is visibly affected; her eyes close and her head tilts and her face twists in what appears to be pain and Laura carefully sets her drink down, prepared for anything.

But then Carmilla opens her eyes and smiles and both the smile and her eyes are sad, but genuine.

_Show me how you do it, and I promise you, I promise that I'll run away with you_

_I'll run away with you_

Laura couldn't know she had been thinking about how she and Mattie danced when they heard this song the first time it had ever been played live, in 1987. How free they were, how happy they were. A whole body of water and several countries between her and Maman, and Robert Smith to whisk her spirit away entirely to some higher plane. The first time since her release from the coffin that she hadn't thought of Elle and instead, for once, thought of the future. Of her own "dream," her own "heaven." A girl she could have someday in the future instead of a girl she had lost in the past. Something to stay alive for. Something to fight for.

The thought had not lasted very long, but it birthed the minuscule seed of hope that Carmilla had kept buried deep inside her for the next forty-odd years. So deep she forgot it was there. It was that hope that kept her from killing Laura when she entered room 307 for the first time. It was that hope that kept her from killing Laura when Mattie died.

It was that hope that kept her loving Laura, despite everything.

So yes. This is the first time she's heard this song since that day in 1987. So yes. She's getting a bit emotional.

And Laura knows none of this, so she is naturally concerned. "Carm? You okay?"

_Spinning on that dizzy edge_

_Kissed her face and kissed her neck_

_Dreamed of all the different ways I had to make her glow_

Carmilla lets out a long breath and shakes her head slightly. "I'm fine. This... place," she waves a hand around, "it just brings back some... old memories."

_Why are you so far away, she said_

_Oh won't you ever know that I'm in love with you_

_that I'm in love with you_

Laura nods sympathetically, even though she doesn't quite understand.

"So," she says, "this is where it happened, huh?"

Carmilla glances at the stage in the corner. Little has been done to preserve its integrity since 1970. You wouldn't even know such a famous band had set foot in here if it weren't for the minuscule plaque behind the coat hanger. She can practically him standing up on that stage now, and Mattie beside her. In life.

"Yes," she says.

"What was it like?"

Carmilla's eyes grow wistful. "It was... okay."

"Just okay?" Laura gapes. "It was _The Cure._ "

"They're a bit too... what is it the kids say these days?"

"Incredible?"

"Emo."

Laura rolls her eyes. "You're one to talk."

"Hey, I didn't say they were bad. Some of their songs are fine."

"Like this one?" Laura grins. "One of my personal favorites."

_You_

_Soft and only_

Carmilla smiles and looks down. "Mine too."

_You_

_Lost and lonely_

Carmilla sets her drink down beside Laura's, takes her hand.

_You_

"Strange as angels, dancing in the deepest oceans," Carmilla whispers with the song.

"Twisting in the water. You're just like a dream."

She twirls Laura in a circle, out and in and back to hold her.

Laura is laughing.

Carmilla buys them both another beer.

_You're just like a_

_dream_

* * *

The next place on Laura’s list is Barcelona. She wants to see one thing and one thing only: the Sagrada Familia.

The Sagrada Familia is a behemoth of a cathedral and arguably the most famous in the world. Its architect died before its construction could be finished, but it is still powerful even in its incompleteness.

Even before she was turned, Carmilla questioned religion. And after she was turned, she became fairly certain that there was no God, at least not in the biblical sense. What God would allow the torture she endured? What God would allow girls to be sacrificed?

So she has always felt uncomfortable in churches. She finds them to be heavy places where fear is used to induce blind faith, the air inside always saturated with obligation and expectation and implicit demands that are impossible to meet.

But the Sagrada Familia holds none of that weight. In fact, as they step inside the enormous main hall, she finds it is impossibly light.

They wander around for a while together, hand in hand. Carmilla is always slow when it comes to things like this. She takes in every detail; every carving on the wall and every tile on the floor deserves individual appreciation.

Laura is doing her best to be patient, but they both know it’s not her strong suit. She was bouncing with excitement when they arrived, and now she’s practically on the verge of combustion. She’s itching to explore.

As Carmilla pauses to examine yet another window frame, Laura can’t take it anymore.

She squeezes Carmilla’s hand quickly, repeatedly.

Carmilla looks at her. Laura is rocking on the balls of her feet, her eyes pleading, her mouth twisted in a sheepish smile.

Carmilla chuckles and dips her head. “Go.”

Laura lets out a squeal and presses a quick kiss to Carmilla’s cheek before dashing off.

Carmilla watches her scurry around, sometimes snapping pictures with her camera or phone, mostly just trying to see everything. And then, in the center of the room, she stops.

Tilts her head back.

Gazes up at the almost floral patterns on the ceiling, formed by the specific arrangement of the enormous columns holding this place up that shoot skyward for what feels like infinity.

There’s such wonder in her eyes as Carmilla has not seen before (and even at this distance, she can see it). And though she is unaware of it, her lips part just slightly in complete awe.

Then it happens. The clouds that baptized them with drizzle that morning suddenly part, allowing the sun to shine through the hundreds of stained-glass windows that fill the upper walls of the church.

And Laura is bathed in rainbow light.

She does not look down, does not turn to find Carmilla.

The sight sends Carmilla’s heart into her throat. Her chest tightens with emotion as she watches Laura blink, breathe, gasp. Covered in color.

Holy.

And for the first time, Carmilla thinks she understands.

* * *

Laura insists Carmilla picks their next stop. So as soon as the two weeks are up, they're off to Morocco.

Marrakesh, specifically.

Carmilla wishes Mattie was with them. Whenever she dreamed about bringing Laura here, it was always with Mattie as a tour guide. She knew this place better than anyone.

But that is, of course, impossible now.

Carmilla takes Laura to the tea room she and Mattie had frequented decades ago. They sip sweet, deliciously cold green tea with leaves of fresh Moroccan mint and watch the shoppers rushing by.

It's hot here, hotter than their last two destinations by a large margin. Carmilla is having a great deal of difficulty with it. She used to be dead, after all. Without a heartbeat, without a core body temperature, overheating was never an issue before.

 _Neither was the sun,_  she thinks as she squints through the wide, open windows of the tea room to the bright outdoors.

It's a catch-22. When she was a vampire, she couldn't be out in the sun for long, but she was more or less nocturnal, so it didn't really matter. But now, even though the sun no longer severely burns her in seconds, she sleeps at night. And thus during the day she is in it almost constantly.

The thing she misses the most is the night. Having it all to herself. The quiet, the dark, the stars. Now she can barely stay awake past midnight. And the stars are gone.

Laura finishes her tea and adjusts her silk headscarf, a white one she bought two days ago at their first market visit to combat the heat. "You up for some shopping?"

Carmilla takes one last sip of her own drink and nods.

They pay and leave the tea room, stepping into the dusty red streets of the souk. It is alive with activity. Shoppers haggle with shopkeepers in rapid-fire Arabic and French. The air is filled with the mingling scents of spices and, unfortunately, sweat.

Laura doesn't seem to mind. She giddily runs from booth to booth, examining shoes and figurines and, of course, food. Carmilla follows behind, flexing her tongue in preparation for arguing the price of whatever Laura chooses down to what the object is actually worth. It's become her duty to do all the haggling, since she's the one with the fluency in nearly every language.

(She can't do a British accent, though. Laura hounded her relentlessly for that when they were in London.)

Laura is not one for frivolous spending, even though Carmilla's mother's death has left them with enough money to buy a small country. As such, by the time they leave the market and return to their hostel, they are not toting armfuls of bags like most tourists. In fact, they've only made three purchases: spices for Perry as a souvenir, despite Carmilla's warning that "they might be too flavorful for Betty Crocker, cupcake," a new pair of real leather pants at a startlingly low price (you know who picked those), and a small area rug Laura absolutely fell in love with.

Carmilla has to agree that it is a very beautiful rug. Authentic, well-made.

And one of the hardest bargaining wars she's ever gotten into in her entire life.

Usually all it took was one glare. Carmilla is a rather intimidating person, even without bloodlust. But that seller had not been backing down.

Carmilla runs her tongue over her teeth as she holds the door of their room in the hostel open for Laura. If she'd just been able to show her fangs, the rug would have been free.

Laura promptly collapses on the mattress. "I'm so hot."

Carmilla smirks and steps into the room, shutting the door behind her. She doesn't even have to say a word before Laura is glaring at her. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" She crosses the room to join Laura on the bed.

They managed to snag the only private room the hostel had. Laura at first didn't mind the communal sleeping arrangement and was about to protest Carmilla's blatant bribery of the hostel owner to possess the room, until Carmilla reminded her that everyone else in the communal barracks would be able to hear and possibly see them having sex. After that revelation, Laura insisted on upping the bribe.

Neither of them even suggested remaining celibate for their time in the country. It simply wasn't an option.

“Around the world in eighty orgasms,” Laura had joked, before they left Styria.

Now, from the bed, Laura gives Carmilla an inviting smile and stretches, pushing her chest forward. She’s not wearing a bra and Carmilla can see the swell of her breasts pushing against her crisp cotton shirt. Her breath catches in her throat and she’s down.

Thinking back on this an hour later, Laura lying sweaty and naked and asleep in her arms, Carmilla finds it worth noting that she probably made Laura come eighty times on that hostel bed today alone.

* * *

Rome is next. Like London, they spend two weeks here, which are mostly filled with the near-nonstop consumption of food. And for these weeks, Carmilla is very, very glad to be human. She can eat all the garlic she pleases, and crucifixes no longer repel her. Holy water does not burn.

Somewhere near the end of the first week, Laura insists they see the Colosseum. It awes Carmilla as much as it does Laura. Rome is one of the few empires whose duration she was not alive for, so Carmilla (just like the rest of the current population) never got to experience any of it. While Laura marvels over how such a thing could possibly have been built without modern technology, Carmilla wishes she had been there to see them building it.

Mattie was.

This was one of the stories she used to tell Carmilla, early in the morning in the weeks after she was first turned. In those awful, awful weeks, sleep was out of the question. Every time Carmilla closed her eyes she found herself reliving it. At first feeling nothing more than a hard punch to her abdomen, nothing more than an intensifying pressure. And then looking down, slowly, and seeing the hilt of the dagger sticking out of her body, and the white fabric of her dress quickly blooming red. And as her legs gave out, as she fell to the ground, as her own blood soaked her skin and pooled around her body, her last thought was of her mother–

And then her eyes shot open and her hand flew to her heart reflexively and there was nothing there. No beat. No pulse.

She remembered what she had become.  
And she wept as best as she could without functioning tear ducts. Her chest no longer rose and fell to fuel her dry sobs. There was no gasping, no sniffling. Just wailing, long and loud.

The noise she made was horrifying enough to disturb even Maman, who sent Mattie to shut her up. The older vampire held her and stroked her hair as she cried, and murmured potential nicknames into her ear. None of them stuck. None of them silenced her.

So Mattie turned to the one thing she knew calmed even the rowdiest of children (because Carmilla truly was a child then, both before death and in it).

Stories.

And she had many.

She told Carmilla about the Crusades and the selfish Christian knights who joined them, thirsty for riches or blood or a guaranteed free pass to heaven, or all three. “Leave it to white men to believe murder will get them into any kind of heaven, if there was such a thing.” She told her about Cleopatra and the repeated attempts she made to sleep with her, but to no avail. “She was always so flaky. Though I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve got a kingdom to run.” She told her about the Black Death and the unique opportunity it posed for the vampiric community. “We had people practically lining up to be turned, and we could just drink our fill. They didn’t have to know that just being drunk from doesn’t promise immortality.”

And she told her about Rome.

“Did you know that Mattie was here once?”

Laura glances at her. “No, I didn’t.”

Carmilla chuckles. “Yes. She was subjected to execution _ad bestia_. By beast. A lion, in her case.”

She’s still staring up at the building, so she doesn’t see Laura’s jaw drop. Nor does she see it remain that way for several seconds before Laura has to physically force it shut with her hand. “No. Way.”

“Mhm.”

“How– How the heck did she survive _that?”_

Carmilla turns to her then and smirks. “Did you forget we can turn into cats, sweetheart?”

Laura blinks, and Carmilla realizes her slip.

Present tense.

Except it’s twofold this time.

First, she can’t turn into a cat anymore.

Second, there’s no “we” anymore.

Laura doesn’t mention it, though, and Carmilla is glad for it. “What did she do to get thrown in there?”

“Tried drinking from a senator during a, shall we say, _time of passion._  Turns out being exsanguinated just didn’t do it for him.”

Laura laughs. “You know, somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Yeah, I suppose being a vampire, you forget that most people aren’t into bloodplay.”

“No, I mean M–”

She stops herself, and Carmilla isn’t sure why.

“You can say her name, you know.” It comes out more irritated than she meant it to, and Laura flinches slightly.

“I know,” she says, her voice quiet.

“Then why didn’t you?”

Laura just stares at her.

Carmilla huffs and gestures impatiently to the Colosseum. “Well, are we going in or what?”

Laura’s eyes flare and she opens her mouth like she wants to say something. To fight, maybe. But instead, she inhales deeply, clamps her jaw shut tight, and walks away from Carmilla towards the entrance.

Carmilla sighs. “Laura.” She starts after her. “Laura, wait.”

Laura quickens her pace. She doesn't turn around. But more disturbingly, she doesn’t say a single word.

Carmilla can't remember the last time Laura stormed away in anger without first giving Carmilla a piece of her mind. She’s incapable of silence, even in a fight. (Does this even qualify as a fight?)

But there's something about Mattie that just gets to her.

To both of them, if Carmilla’s being perfectly honest.

Laura has already disappeared inside by the time Carmilla reaches the entrance to the Colosseum. She pays her admission and heads inside, hoping to catch up with Laura and– and what? Apologize? Carmilla scoffs at the thought.

But she can worry about what she’ll say to her later. She has to find her first.

There’s a thick crowd of tourists filling the main walkway, which cuts straight across the arena and divides it neatly in half. Carmilla scans the throng but can't find Laura anywhere. Seeing as she spends most of her time with Laura, who is very tiny, she has never really thought of herself as short until today; right now, her eyes are exactly level with most of these people’s shoulders or chests, and she can’t see over them.

Faces and voices all blur together, impossible to distinguish. Her anxiety builds. She listens for Laura’s voice in vain. A few months ago, all she would have had to do was focus her hearing a little and she’d have found her in seconds. But that ability, like so much else, has been robbed from her.

She has no choice. “Laura!” Her voice is swallowed by the chatter of the tourists around her. “Laura!”

“I said _no!”_

Carmilla stiffens. It’s her. Yelling.

And it’s not directed at Carmilla.

Panic seizes her body. “Laura!” She moves as quickly as she can through the crowd in the vague direction she thinks the shout came from, elbowing aside middle-aged men and women in khakis and tan sunhats. Her heart is beating faster than ever, but fear keeps her from registering how odd it feels.

“Leave me alone!” Laura’s voice comes again, louder this time. Closer. But Carmilla still can’t see her.

“God _damn_  it,” Carmilla hisses. Frustrated tears prick her eyes. Someone’s hurting her. Someone’s hurting Laura, and she won’t get there in time to stop it.

And then the crowd suddenly thins, and Carmilla bursts out at the end of the walkway onto a wide observation deck, and there is Laura.

Up against the railing, off to the left.

Cornered by a tall, beefy man.

Who chooses that exact moment to grab Laura’s ass.

Carmilla’s vision goes red. She surges forward, but slows when she notices Laura’s face darken. What little civility and politeness remained there seconds before his transgression has now disappeared. It’s chilling to see.

Carmilla knows that look. She’s seen it only once before: the first time Laura laid eyes on the Dean in Perry’s body. It shook her then, but it reassures her now. She has no idea what’s coming next, but she doubts it’ll end well for the asshole.

She’s right: less than a millisecond later, Laura delivers a sharp jab to the man’s throat with lightning speed.

 

 

He lets out an unpleasant sound and grabs his throat reflexively. Laura seizes the opportunity to flee. She runs straight to Carmilla and throws her arms around her neck, their fight forgotten.

“Carm,” she whispers.

Carmilla brings her arms up to hold her. She shakes in Carmilla’s arms, from adrenaline and shock and fear. “Laura, jesus.” She takes a tiny step back to assess her, lowering her hands to rest on Laura’s arms. “Are you all right?” She brushes some hair out of her face. “Did he hurt you?”

She takes a shuddering breath, shakes her head. Her hands clutch Carmilla’s forearms tight. “No. No. I’m okay.”

Carmilla happens to glance down then, and spots a mark on her wrist. No, not a mark. A bruise.

“What’s this?”

Laura looks at it and blinks, surprised, as if she’s seeing it for the first time. “I– I don’t know. It must have been from when he grabbed me.”

“He _what.”_  Her voice is dangerously quiet.

“Carm, I’m fine. Please, let’s just go.”

Carmilla lets go of Laura and turns around.

Laura’s eyes widen. “No, nonononono, Carm–”

But the fury is too strong, too overwhelming. Carmilla feels a stirring in her chest, an ache in her throat, and it’s the closest thing to bloodlust she’s felt since she became human. She wants to rip him to shreds. She wants to make him suffer. She wants to destroy him.

Carmilla stalks towards the man, fists balled at her sides, blood boiling in her veins. “Hey, meathead!”

The man is still choking by the railing and can’t formulate a response. Laura really did a number on him. Carmilla almost smiles with pride.

Instead, she punches him in the face.

There’s almost no reaction from him and Carmilla only has about thirty seconds to think _fuckfuckshitfuckmyhandhurtssofuckingbadholyshitwhatthefuck_  before he returns the favor and hits her in the stomach, hard. She crumples to the ground instantly.

“Carmilla!” Laura screams.

The man hits her again, and again, and again. Carmilla tries to rally her body to fight back, to break a bone or rip out an organ or _something, anything_ , but it just lays there and takes it. Pitiful.

After the sixth or so hit she doesn’t feel another and wonders if perhaps she has died, but the large shadow over her is dragged off and replaced by a much smaller one and the familiar scent of vanilla surrounds her and Laura’s pulling her head into her lap and crying and stroking her hair and calling her things like “insane” and “idiot” and kissing her cheeks and forehead and Carmilla tries to say she’s sorry, but just ends up coughing blood all over the place and then passing out.

In the hospital, Laura tries to stay mad at her.

“Why did you do it?” she demands.

Carmilla stares down at her bandaged right hand. It’s sprained, but only mildly. Nothing broken. She’s apparently “molto fortunato.” _Very lucky._

She doesn’t feel lucky right now.

“He deserved it,” she mutters.

“Carmilla, that isn’t the _point.”_  Her mouth twists and she starts to cry. “You could have _died.”_

Carmilla flinches. Watching Laura cry feels like being beat up all over again. It always feels like this.

And strangely enough, she can feel her own eyes burning as well. But she knows better than to let the tears fall, knows better than to make this about her. She just looks at Laura and hopes she won’t say it, won’t make her face it.  

“I know you think you can handle it, but you can’t take these kinds of risks,” Laura sobs. “You’re not immortal anymore.”

_You’re not immortal anymore._

Each word hits her like a train.

No, she isn’t. She isn't.

She swallows with some difficulty. Her throat is dry.

“I couldn't protect you,” she says in a small voice.

Laura sniffles and laughs a little, wiping her eyes. “You of all people should know I don’t need protecting.”

Carmilla dips her head in acquiescence and leans back against the scratchy, flat pillows of the hospital bed. She wonders briefly if Laura knows what she really means.

_I couldn't reach you._

_I couldn't help you._

_I’m powerless._

_I’m useless._

_I’m scared._

But when Laura reaches over and takes Carmilla’s good hand in both of hers, when she looks at Carmilla not with aggravation but with tenderness, Carmilla can see that she understands.

* * *

They were going to visit Athens next, but Laura suggested that they take a break from tourism and instead go somewhere where they can relax. So a few days later, after Carmilla’s wrist heals and her bruising clears up and her black eye fades to a less offensive green, they rent a car and a hotel room in a small village on the island of Santorini and spend the next two weeks doing just that: relaxing.

Carmilla figured they’d stay in Oia, the more picturesque part of the island with the pristine white houses with bright blue roofs. It just seemed like somewhere Laura would want to live. But in fact it was Laura who convinced her to instead rent a place in Perissa.

“Are you sure, cupcake?” she’d asked as they packed their bags on the floor of the hotel room back in Rome. “If it's about the cost—”

On the other side of the bed, out of Carmilla’s line of sight, Laura sighed. “Carm.” A pair of polka-dot underwear went sailing over the bed and across the room, landing right in the middle of Carmilla’s bag. “If I thought we were strapped for cash, do you really think I’d have bought _this?”_  An Italian version of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_  followed the trajectory of the underwear, its fall cushioned by the piles of clothing Carmilla had so neatly arranged in her suitcase. “Or any of the others that came before it, for that matter.”

Laura was trying to buy at least one Harry Potter book in each country they traveled to, written in the respective language of the country. Carmilla had to admit that this probably wouldn't have been the best use of their money if their funds were limited.

“All right, if you're sure.”

“I'm sure.”

“It's really no trouble.”

_“Carmilla.”_

“Fine, fine. I'll book a place now.”

And so, a day later, they move into a little hotel in the seaside village. But they don’t stay in Perissa the whole time; in fact, they mostly spend their days driving their rental car up and down the island, making impromptu stops whenever either of them spot something that interests them. A little café, an intriguing hiking trail, an open-air market.

Some nights they go dancing at clubs in Oia or house parties they were invited to by the owner of the little café on the side of the road or the woman they bought books from at the market. Other nights they take long strolls on the black beaches, which Carmilla falls in love with. Sometimes she sneaks out of their hotel room long after Laura’s gone to sleep and walks the twenty minutes down to the beach, where she sits for hours grabbing handfuls of coal-colored sand and letting it run through her pale fingers.

On their last night in Greece, Laura fills a tiny glass vial with the sand and strings it on a necklace to give to Carmilla later. She won't tell Carmilla, but these beaches were the reason she pushed for them to stay here as opposed to Oia. She knew how much Carmilla would love them.

Perissa is an experiment in being present, in saying _Yes, yes, yes_. Everything spontaneous, nothing planned. It takes Laura longer to get used to this way of life than Carmilla, who has had centuries to perfect the art of laziness (and has succeeded quite spectacularly). At first she protests the slow, “I’ll get to it eventually” attitude of the workers and the refusal of anyone on the island to keep to a “freaking schedule,” even though this propensity to just go with the flow was precisely the reason they had come to Santorini. But eventually she gets the hang of it, and by the time they board the ferry to take them back to the mainland airport, she finds herself truly saddened at the thought of leaving the place that taught her how to truly let go.

* * *

The plan is to go to Iceland next. Carmilla has already browsed a list of cabins to rent and narrowed their choices down to three when Laura runs all the way across the ferry and comes to a screeching stop in front of Carmilla.

“Whoa, cupcake, where’s the fire?”

Laura doubles over and rests her hands on her thighs, panting. “Hundred– Plane– Czechoslovakia–”

Carmilla regards her with amusement and rests a hand on her back. “Deep breaths, sweetheart.”

Laura gulps down air and manages to string a full sentence together. “I found two $100 plane tickets to Prague.”

Carmilla stiffens.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to Prague,” she says carefully.

If Laura notices Carmilla’s discomfort, she doesn’t show it. “ _Yeah–_ (huff)–but that was before tickets were only _a hundred_ –(huff)–dollars. We have to buy them–(huff)– _now_ , Carm,” she says, still panting. “Or else they’re gonna–(huff)–be gone.”

Carmilla is silent.

Laura stares at her, the redness slowly clearing from her face as her lungs take in more oxygen. “Carm?”

“Laura, I just don't know…”

“If it's about Reykjavik, I already checked with the airline and if we buy these tickets they'll treat it as an extended layover. We'll only spend three days in Prague.” She pauses. “Okay, four. Well, five _max_. But we'll be in Iceland by next week. I promise.” She pulls her best pout. “Please, Carm? You know how badly I want to go.”

It’s true. She’s known this ever since Laura’s freshman year at Silas, before the whole mess, when Carmilla wasn’t her lover or even her friend.

Laura had a corkboard that, due to dorm policy, she was not allowed to hang on the wall. So she leaned it against her bookshelf, out of view from the prying eye of her camera, and on it she kept tacked up photos of every place she wanted to visit. Most places only got one or two pictures, so that they could all fit on the board. Prague had at least six, and there were probably more on there that Carmilla just didn’t recognize as being of Prague.

It was also one of the names that usually followed Paris when Laura would wax poetic about the great cities of the world, all of which she wanted to visit someday.

At first it was _I_ , and then it was _us_ , and then she stopped mentioning her hopes altogether.

And then they defeated the Dean, and they planned this voyage, and of course Laura had brought up Prague. But Carmilla insisted that it would simply be impractical, what with high ticket prices and time constraints and a whole other host of reasons that Laura accepted with only a little pushback.

She didn’t have to know the real reason.

But now, here she is, shooting down each and every one of Carmilla’s “reasons,” and looking so hopeful, and Carmilla hears herself say “Okay,” when what she really meant to say was _No, just no._ But it’s like her mouth has a mind of its own.

 _Are you insane?_ she reprimands herself as Laura does a happy dance on the boat’s deck.

God, she’s a pushover. She just can’t resist those eyes.

Carmilla stares out at the cerulean water. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe she’s getting all worked up for nothing. She’s human, after all. She can’t possibly be detected now.

A few hours later, after the ferry and a car and a plane, they land at the Václav Havel airport. Carmilla doesn’t feel the familiar shiver that used to pass through her when crossing the city line, and she takes this as a sign that perhaps she is indeed safe.

At the hotel, Laura practically throws their suitcases into the corner, spending no time unpacking, and runs out of the room with the excitement of a child in Disneyland. Carmilla follows behind. Her caution is melting away with every minute that passes where she remains undetected. By the time they finish eating dinner at a little restaurant in Old Town Square without incident, she is convinced she had overreacted earlier. So she lets herself relax. She smiles a little more, drinks a little more, kisses Laura a little more.

The sun is about to set, and Laura desperately wants to watch it do so from the Charles Bridge. So they set off in the late-afternoon glow, holding hands. The city is beautiful around them, all rust-colored roofs and brightly-colored facades and tight, winding cobblestone streets, like something out of a fairy tale. _It hasn’t changed a bit,_ Carmilla thinks, just as Laura says, “Gosh, it feels like the eighteen-hundreds!”

Carmilla laughs and knocks her shoulder against Laura’s gently. “Give or take a few hundred years.”

“So you’ve been here too, then.” Laura looks at her, and Carmilla averts her eyes to a blue-trimmed building across the street in what she hopes is a natural, sightseeing way.

“Oh, once or twice,” she says.

Laura cocks her head. “You never mentioned it.”

Carmilla looks back at her now and smiles, and it visibly eases Laura. “Cupcake, if I mentioned every place I’ve ever been once or twice, we’d both be dead before I finished.”

“Fair.” Laura’s still looking at her. Carmilla can’t place the expression on her face because even though it’s not one of suspicion, it’s also not one of love. It’s like she’s looking for something. And it’s making Carmilla very nervous.

But then something catches her attention, and her eyes flick away from Carmilla to rest on a different building across the street a little ways ahead of them, red plaster with black trim. Her brow furrows. “Hey, did you see that?”

Carmilla turns. “See what?” The street looks perfectly normal.

Laura blinks. “Huh. I could’ve sworn that building just…” She shakes her head. “Nevermind.”

Carmilla’s pulse races. “It just what?”

Laura squints in the direction of the building. “Nothing, I guess. I thought I saw it… shimmer. Kind of. But it was probably just the light or something.” She returns to Carmilla for a moment and laughs. “Weird, right?”

“Yeah, weird,” Carmilla echoes.

Laura’s moved on now, taking in the other buildings and people around them. As they pass the building Laura had mentioned, Carmilla glares at it, as if daring it to do anything out of the ordinary. But it behaves. She doesn’t catch so much as a whiff of the supernatural.

Just seconds later, the air around the red-and-black building ripples and shines and for a split second the colors invert; the plaster becomes black and the trim becomes a blood red.

But Laura and Carmilla are not there to see it, because they’ve just reached the east end of the Charles Bridge at the exact instant the sun touches the city skyline on the other side.

Laura lets out a little gasp and Carmilla lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her waist. She pulls her in close and kisses the side of her head as the sky goes orange. The bridge stretches out before them, statues and streetlamps lining the barriers on each side. Everything’s peaceful. Everything’s golden.

“Well, well, well.”

Carmilla stiffens, and Laura glances first at her, and then around to spot the source of the voice. But she can’t seem to spot the body it’s attached to.

And then, she spies the outline of a woman leaning against one of the statues up ahead. Laura hadn’t noticed her before because she blended in almost perfectly with the shadow that the statue cast; she’s dressed all in black.

Tight black jacket, ripped black pants, steel-toed black combat boots.

But her hair is copper and her eyes are bright blue, and her smile exudes warmth. Her voice, however, does not.

“Livie,” Carmilla growls.

The woman’s—Livie’s—smile widens, and she hops down from the statue’s pedestal and strides across the cobblestones towards them. “Carmilla,” she purrs. “It’s been a while, no?”

Her voice is heavily accented. Eastern European, if Laura had to guess. Which probably makes sense, given the country they are currently standing in.

“Go away,” Carmilla spits.

Livie laughs. “I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

She then gives Laura a silent, appraising look, right eyebrow arched. It bears an unnerving resemblance to the first time Laura met Carmilla, and she tries her best not to squirm.

When at last Livie speaks again, she lapses into her native tongue.

 _“A kdo je to?”_  she says, waving a hand at Laura.

Carmilla had snaked her arm around Laura’s waist when Livie first made her appearance known, and it tightens in a vice grip now, pulling Laura flush against her side. _“Myslím, že víš.”_

She speaks with confidence, but Laura doesn’t miss the way her jaw tenses. Neither does Livie, who just laughs. She’s uncomfortably close now, locking eyes with Carmilla, and Laura can only be relieved that she’s not the one on the receiving end of that icy stare.

“How did you find me?” Carmilla asks, returning to English.

“I almost didn’t,” Livie admits. “I could barely sense you.” She reaches out and twirls a strand of Carmilla’s hair around her finger. “It may fade, but it never goes away completely. Even… as you are now.”

Carmilla shudders almost imperceptibly at her touch, and due to sheer proximity Laura can feel it as if it were her own body. Her mind buzzes with confusion. Why is Carmilla so afraid of this woman?

“Tell me, _miláček,_ ” Livie begins. She brings her hand down from Carmilla’s hair to rest on her chest, and beneath it her beating heart. “How did you do it?”

And Carmilla’s pupils dilate, and her lips part with the slightest staggered breath, and Laura feels slightly homicidal.

“Excuse me!” she exclaims, pulling out of Carmilla’s grasp. “Do either of you care to explain exactly what the heck is going on right now?”

She’s pretty sure she knows the answer, but she’s getting some satisfaction at the look of pure embarrassment on her girlfriend’s face.

Livie, for her part, looks more surprised than anything. “Oh,” she says with a chuckle. “You haven’t told her, have you?”

Laura crosses her arms and stares her girlfriend down. “Told. Me. What?”

Carmilla exhales hard and runs a hand through her hair. “Laura, this is Livie,” she says, gesturing to the other girl. “My ex.”

* * *

Laura and Carmilla don’t speak on the walk back to the hotel.

It’s not for lack of trying; Carmilla will open her mouth in an attempt to explain, and Laura will open hers in an attempt to ask something, anything, but neither of them can seem to find the right words.

Back at the bridge, after Carmilla introduced them, Livie and Laura had exchanged the most awkward handshake known to man. Not even a second later, Livie asked Carmilla to have dinner with her.

“Just to catch up,” she said. “No funny business,”—and then she turned right to Laura—“I promise,” and winked.

And just like earlier on the ferry, Carmilla’s mouth broke free from her brain, and she said “All right” when she’d meant to say “Absolutely not.”

Laura’s jaw had already dropped at Livie’s unabashedness, and Carmilla’s answer made it drop even further.

And now here they are, sitting on the end of the hotel bed with no less than two feet of space between them, staring straight at the wall in front of them.

“So,” Laura finally says. “That was your ex, huh?”

“Laura–”

“Because, you know, you could have told me that we were about to visit the country where your vampire ex-girlfriend lives _before_ we visited the country where your vampire ex-girlfriend lives. You didn’t think that maybe, _juuuust_ maybe this would have been useful information for me to have?”

“Well, seeing as she’s a vampire, I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

With every word, Carmilla can feel the excuse growing weaker, and when Laura’s inevitable teardown comes she wonders why she hadn’t had the foresight earlier. “Well, seeing as _you_ were a vampire, I don’t think it would have been that hard to grasp.”

She finally turns to look at Carmilla, and Carmilla is stunned by the hurt in her eyes. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. Did you really think I was gonna care?”

Carmilla focuses her gaze on a stain on the yellowing bedsheets. “It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like.” When Carmilla doesn’t answer, Laura reaches over and interlocked their fingers. “Carm,” she murmured. “Talk to me.”

Carmilla feels Laura looking at her, waiting for her, and so she finally raises her eyes to meet Laura’s. “Livie is part of a… I suppose you could call it a club, that’s based out of Prague.”

“Of vampires?”

“Of vampires.”

Laura’s brow furrows. “Oh…kay. And what exactly does this club do?”

“Well, first you should know that most vampires drink only the bare minimum of what they need to survive. That’s a liter a week, give or take. Generally it’s spread out over time, but taking it all at once wouldn’t do too much damage.” Her lips quirk upward. “I’m more of a spread-it-out type of girl. Believe it or not, most of us don’t like to kill.”

“But I’m guessing Livie and her friends… don’t do that.”

Carmilla shakes her head. “To them, feeding isn’t just necessity. It’s sport.”

“What does that mean?”

“When they feed,”—Carmilla swallows hard and looks away—“they drain.”

Laura’s eyes widen. “You mean, like, _drain_ drain?”

“In the truest sense of the word.”

“Wow.”

Carmilla met Laura’s eyes. “That’s why I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want to bring _you_ here. It’s not safe.” She sighs and looks down again, playing with their joined hands. “It’s funny, actually. You wouldn’t think it, but draining is taboo in vampire culture. In fact, I’d say it’s the only thing that’s taboo in vampire culture.”

“But Livie does it?”

She nods. “Quite often, in fact. While we were together I tried to talk her out of it a few times, but she refused to stop.” Carmilla pauses. Their hands fall back onto the bed. “She even asked me to do it, once.”

“Did you?”

Carmilla is silent.

Laura’s eyes widen. “Oh.” Her grip on Carmilla’s hand loosens and Carmilla can’t help the slight staggered breath that escapes her. A monster, that’s what she is. That’s what she will always be. She turns away to hide the tears pricking in her eyes.

Laura immediately realizes what she’s done and grabs Carmilla’s hand again, hard, and with both of her own. “No no no, oh, Carm, no.” She touches Carmilla’s cheek and tilts her face towards her, brushes the tears away with her thumb. “Hey.”

Carmilla closes her eyes and leans into Laura’s touch. Laura sighs.

“You’re not,” she whispers, the counter to a point Carmilla never said. “You’re not.”

A few silent moments pass.

“I won’t go.”

Laura’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Dinner with her. I won’t go.”

Laura shrugs. “I think you should.”

“No.” Carmilla shakes her head emphatically. “She brings out the worst in me, Laura. I can’t be around her.”

“I think you want to.”

“I don’t.”

Laura smirks. “Well, you said yes, so…”

“She took me by surprise. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have said no. ”

Laura laughs lightly. “It’s okay to want to reconnect, Carm. If it’s me you’re worried about, I’m fine with it. Well, maybe not fine with the whole murder-for-sport thing, but having dinner with your ex isn’t the _worst_ thing in the world.”

"Sure you were fine with it." Carmilla flops backwards on the bed suddenly, and as their hands are still joined, she pulls Laura down with her. Laura yelps in surprise, but it quickly gives way to laughter.

Carmilla rubs her nose against Laura’s. "Like you weren't ready to kill her immediately."

"Okay, maybe I was just a tad murder-y."

Carmilla just sighs happily. “I love you, you know that?”

Laura raises an eyebrow. “Why, no, I had no idea.”

Carmilla rolls her eyes and Laura laughs harder, even as Carmilla leans in and kisses her.

* * *

She doesn’t go to dinner with Livie.

Well, she goes, but explains why she won’t be staying. Livie is far from surprised, and this itself is surprising to Carmilla, who had been expecting no less than a punishing bite. In fact, Livie actually says she suspected as much. She cracks some jokes about Carmilla being a pushover, but that's the extent of it.

They say some curt goodbyes and Carmilla turns to walk away, when Livie calls after her.

“Carmilla!”

She stops and turns back.

Livie’s hand rests over her silent heart. “How did you _do_  it?”

It's just short of a plea. A beg.

Carmilla swallows hard, and shakes her head.

Almost imperceptibly, Livie’s shoulders sag. She nods, gives Carmilla a sad smile, and vanishes in a wisp of black smoke.

And Carmilla returns to Laura.

* * *

Four days after they arrive in Iceland, Carmilla gets sick.

Laura realizes this when she wakes up and notices that the bed is significantly warmer than usual. She turns to find Carmilla, who is still sleeping beside her, drenched in sweat while simultaneously shivering violently. A quick hand-against-forehead confirms the fever.

It was bound to happen at some point during this stop, Laura reasons, what with all the long nights they spent out in the cold watching the northern lights and Carmilla’s stubborn refusal to wear anything more than a light jacket. She clicks her tongue softly in resigned disapproval.

Carmilla blinks awake then. Her eyes are bright and glazed over. She stares up at Laura in dazed confusion. It's an expression Laura has never seen on her face before, and it worries her. But only a little.

“Morning, babe.”

Carmilla cocks her head to the side. “Laura?”

“Mmhm?”

“I think I may be dying.”

Laura giggles. “Carm, you're sick. You're not dying.”

“I see no difference.” Carmilla shuts her eyes and groans. “God, I feel horrendous.”

Laura strokes her hair back away from her face. “I know. You have a fever.” She sighs. “I told you to wear a real coat.”

Carmilla scoots closer to Laura. “Human bodies are so temperamental,” she grumbles.

Laura sits up, and Carmilla makes a loud noise of discontent. “You’re letting in the cold.”

“Carm,” Laura says again, a note of concern in her voice. “It’s at least seventy in here. I turned the thermostat up when we went to bed last night, remember?”

Carmilla shivers.

“Look, I’ll be right back.” Laura slides out of bed and moves to drape the covers back over Carmilla, but then remembers thinks better of it. “Stay here, okay?”

Carmilla is silent. No witty quip or scathing retort.

Laura is very worried.

In the kitchen of their little rental cabin, she rummages around for a tea kettle before settling on a small pot with which to boil water. As she does this, it begins to rain, furiously. The drops come flying almost horizontally into the large windows, and Laura tenses, expects them to shatter at any moment (or at the very least for the building to begin shaking).

She has to remind herself they’re not at Silas anymore.

When the tea brews, she pours it in a mug and brings it back to Carmilla, who from a distance appears to have fallen asleep again. But when Laura sits on the edge of the bed beside her, she twists her neck to look up blearily.

Laura lifts the mug. “For your throat.”

Carmilla’s brow furrows. “How did you know?”

She smiles. “I’ve had the flu quite a few times in my day.”

“This is the flu?” Carmilla moans. “It feels like the plague.”

“Drama queen.” Laura rested a hand on Carmilla’s cheek and stroked her face with her thumb. “Come on. Sit up and drink your tea.”

“I can’t move,” she whines. “Everything hurts. I think I’m dying.”

“Carm, for the last time, you’re not dying.”  

“But what if I am?”

“I promise, you’re not.”

Carmilla is silent and just lays there in the bed, staring into space. Laura raises an eyebrow and is about to make another comment about her dramatic tendencies when she suddenly, quickly, sits up.

“Good,” Laura says, and moves to hand her the mug.

“Laura.” Her face has gone paler, almost back to how she looked before turning human. Her breathing has gone shallow, and she clutches her throat. “Something’s–”

Laura realizes what’s going to happen an instant before it does, and manages to grab the wastebasket and thrust it into her lap just in time.

Carmilla lifts her head when she finishes, trembling slightly. She doesn’t say a word. Laura is shaken by the sight of her, so silent and frail. This is not the Carmilla she knows.

She knows better than to comment on it, though. Instead, she helps Carmilla to the bathroom so she can clean herself off, and waits outside.

Once Carmilla is back in bed, Laura manages to get her to drink half of the tea before she curls up on her side and flat refuses to drink any more. All Laura can do is lay beside her, stroking her burning cheek and murmuring soft nothings of comfort as her face twists up in pain.

That night, Carmilla wakes screaming from a nightmare. The delirium of fever has set in, and she can't tell Laura with any coherence what she dreamt.Once or twice, she says Mattie's name, but no more than that. She just looks around with bright and wild eyes, gasping and clutching at Laura’s arms.  It takes Laura a long time to calm her; the usual strategies don't work, but she still tries them over and over because she doesn't know what else to do.

 _Tell me how to help you,_  she thinks. _Please tell me how to help you._

Eventually Carmilla calms down, or rather, she exhausts herself and falls back asleep. Laura can't find the same peace. She lies there in the bed beside Carmilla staring at the ceiling, tears running down her face.

The rest of their time in Reykjavik (a good week) is spent in the confines of the cabin as Laura nurses Carmilla back to health. There is a lot of cuddling and tea involved.

The night before they’re due to leave, the pair are on the couch in the living room. Carmilla is almost entirely back to her usual self and is lying on Laura’s chest. A fire blazes in the hearth.

“All this for some lights in the sky,” Carmilla murmurs.

“They were beautiful, though.”

It takes Carmilla a good minute to reply, as she is overtaken by coughs.

At last she manages to say, “Beautiful, but hardly worth it.”

Laura just laughs and kisses the top of her head, and Carmilla closes her eyes and sinks into the comforting warmth.

* * *

When Carmilla recovers, they head for their next stop: Montreal. This was one of Carmilla’s choices, as she’s always loved the music culture in the city. They’d stayed in Reykjavik an extra few days, past what they had planned, to give Carmilla more time to recuperate. She was going stir-crazy by the end, and was more than thrilled to head off to their next destination. Because of this detour, they can only spend a few days in Canada, so they try to make the most of it.

They rent an Airbnb in Mile End, the heart of the independent music scene. It’s exactly how you’d expect it to be: artsy and colorful, while still remaining rough around the edges. Carmilla notes that it has gentrified some since she was last here, but the process has remained slow compared to places like Brooklyn.

The apartment they’re living in is actually an artist’s loft, and there are several millennials and many canvases filling the space. One of them offers to paint Laura and is quite insistent about it until Carmilla gives him The Look; afterwards, he looks down at his Doc Martens, mumbles something about a sunset needing his attention, and leaves.

Most of their limited days are spent just generally exploring. Laura falls in love with the colorful murals painted on the walls of the buildings they pass, and they stop to take many a picture of her in front of them (and sometimes with Carmilla, too, if Laura’s pout is deep enough). She’s also thrilled by the coffee shop culture, even though she’s not really a coffee drinker. (Most of the places serve cocoa, anyway.) She just loves to sit at a table by the window and people-watch, which is something that surprises Carmilla. She’s never seen Laura be able to sit still for as long as she does in the cafés they visit.

Meanwhile, Carmilla came to Montreal for one thing and one thing only: the music. She has a list of all the record stores she wants to visit, and makes sure they hit each and every single one. When she whipped out the list the day they arrived, it was Laura’s turn to be surprised.

“I’ve never seen you this organized about anything,” she quipped.

Carmilla blushed. She did this quite often now, and it amused Laura to no end. She loved to see how many different ways she could make Carmilla blush. (It was quite easy; despite her seductress reputation, Carmilla was actually incredibly old-fashioned, and all it took was a brief sentence about what Laura planned to do to her later to get her to turn tomato-red.)

“I lost my record collection a long time ago,” she said. “Maman took it as a punishment for losing a mark once. I haven’t had the time to build it back up.”

“Oh.” Laura frowned. “Well now I just feel like an ass.”

At this, Carmilla laughs, and Laura is grateful it isn’t held against her. “You can make up for it by helping me find a copy of _Bad Reputation_  on vinyl.”

* * *

They leave Montreal with half a suitcase of records and head south to Laura’s next pick, Niagara Falls.

Carmilla is less than thrilled about this.

“You couldn’t have picked somewhere drier, cupcake?” she whines as they board the _Maid of the Mist_ , the famed Falls ferry tour. “I hear the Sahara is beautiful this time of year.”

Laura laughs. “Carm, give it a chance. I bet once we’re up close to them, you’ll love it.”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. I like being dry. And warm. And in bed.”

“Too bad.” Laura pulls a poncho down over Carmilla’s head. “We’ve already left land. No turning back now.”

Carmilla huffs and crosses her arms, assuming her usual grumpy pout. Laura ignores her and starts putting on her own poncho, too excited to care about her girlfriend’s sour mood.

As the ferry moves closer to the falls, the roar of the water grows in a deafening crescendo. Laura bounces on the balls of her feet, hands clasped together in anticipation.

Soon, they’re close enough to feel a slight mist, and then a heavier mist, and then they come immediately upon the falls themselves and the water is _right there_  in front of them, pouring over the edge of the cliff at a truly remarkable rate. Carmilla has to admit she’s impressed, and it takes a lot to impress her.

The boat docks up against a red metal staircase leading up to a walkway that takes them right up close to the falls. The passengers all file off, some pulling the hoods of their ponchos tighter over their heads to keep the water out, some pulling the hoods down to let the water in. Carmilla and Laura step off the boat and onto the wet stairs, mist cascading over them.

Up the stairs and down the walkway, and then they find themselves on an observation deck right up against the water. Carmilla is awed by its power, and at the same time comforted by it. In this moment she is reminded of the stars she loves so dearly, how nothing she or Laura or Maman or Mattie or anyone did ever mattered or ever would matter to them. The starlight doesn’t care. Nature doesn’t care.

_“All the lives we’ve led, people we’ve been. Nothing to that light.”_

Laura pulls her hood down, stretches her arms up and out towards the sky and the water, and screams as loud as she can. Her voice is drowned by the roaring falls and she’s soaked in an instant, but she’s laughing just the same.

Grinning, she spins around to face Carmilla. Water droplets cling to her cheeks and eyelashes. Her face is flushed. She is vibrant and so alive.

Carmilla takes her hand.

And then, in one swift motion, she pulls her hood down, turns to face the falls, and screams.

Laura joins her and the two of them yell until their throats are sore, knowing no one will hear them and it will never make a difference.

Eventually, the tour guide says it’s time to go. Carmilla turns to leave, but Laura pulls her back and points. “Look.”

A rainbow has formed in the mist.

Laura’s laughing and crying and Carmilla pulls her close and kisses her, and she can’t tell the difference between her tears and the water from the falls, but it doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

* * *

Manhattan is more than Laura thought it would be, in every aspect. It’s busier, louder, faster, smaller. It’s not bad, necessarily, and she’d prepared herself for these possibilities even as she’d thought they were only potential, not eventual.

The one thing she had _not_ prepared herself for, however, was the feeling.

The air crackles with energy, part frantic, part not, but all electric. From the moment they step off the plane at JFK, it whistles through Laura’s body, and she notices immediately that this is more than her normal excitement. This is something different altogether, something deeper. It sings through her blood and bones and makes her want to _go, go, go._

As the cab drives them through Queens and into Manhattan, Laura is practically glued to the window watching all the people walking, driving, biking by. That’s another thing: there are so many people. Everyone moves with intention, with purpose. They all have somewhere to be. And they are all beautiful somehow. Not on a surface level, or in an aesthetic or conventional sense. No, the beauty radiates from within and is a part of their essence, their being. Laura is transfixed.

When they walk up to their place, an impressive brownstone in SoHo, Laura nearly loses her mind. It’s gorgeous, all copper stone and black molding, with a set of stairs leading up to the front door. Inside is even more spectacular. The floors and stairs are hardwood, and the inside is decorated like some kind of Victorian mansion, draped in deep reds and purples with swirling gold. It reminds her a bit of the off-campus housing they holed up in after their dorm was destroyed, after the battle with Lophiiformes.

“Carmilla,” she whispers, “how did you find this place?”

Carmilla’s grinning with pride. “Well,” she says, “it’s actually sort of a family heirloom, of sorts.”

Laura gives her a questioning look.

“It was Mattie’s,” she clarifies.

Laura swallows. “Oh.”

Carmilla swings one of their duffel bags onto the ornate velvet sofa. “Yeah, she made frequent stops in New York for business. Vampire cabals don’t fund themselves.”

She turns to Laura, a sly grin on her face. “So,” she says, “wanna test out the master bedroom?”

Laura doesn’t hear her. She’s too busy staring at everything, a low horror building in the pit of her stomach. This is Mattie’s house. She walked through these halls. She sat on these chairs. She slept in these beds. She had been here, alive.

And now she would never see this place again, because her body was lying in an unmarked grave wherever Vordenberg had decided to leave her, because of‒

“Laura?” Carmilla’s somehow right in front of her and Laura hadn’t even noticed her move, but she must have because she’s right here and she’s raising her hand and she’s resting it on her cheek and she has to have gotten here somehow, but Laura isn’t sure how.

“Yeah,” she hears herself say.

Carmilla smiles. “Where’d you go?”

“Did I go somewhere?”

Carmilla shakes her head, chuckles. “Oh, cupcake.”

She leans in and kisses her, and Laura’s reserves melt away, consumed by Carmilla.

They kiss, and they kiss, and they break to rush upstairs where they kiss some more, Carmilla pushing Laura up against the wall. They kiss, and they kiss, and they spin along kissing to make their way to the master bedroom in question. It’s surprisingly airier than the rest of the house, with sheer white curtains over the windows and minimal red and gold.

“Okay,” Carmilla murmurs between kisses, “this isn’t the master.”

Laura smiles against her lips. “Then what is it?”

“My room.” She pulls Laura over to the bed and they go down, and they kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss, and Carmilla’s unbuttoning Laura’s blouse and Laura’s hands wander up her shirt and they kiss, and they kiss, and Laura closes her eyes and‒

 _“God, she was right. You are a selfish, callow girl._ _And I am the fool who trusted you.”_

Her eyes shoot open, and she pushes back on Carmilla’s chest. Gently, but firmly.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I‒ I can’t.”

Carmilla raises an eyebrow curiously. “What?”

Laura sits up and scoots back, and swings her legs over the side of the bed. “I just‒ it doesn’t feel the same. Sometimes you look at me and it’s just, it’s not the same. It’s not the way you used to look at me.”

Carmilla’s gaze cools, in the way it’s been doing ever since Mattie, and Laura’s heart sinks.

“Like that,” she says, and every word is painful. “Just like how you’re looking at me now.”

Carmilla shrugs and clambers down off the bed, and the flippant act makes Laura feels like she’s been hit. “What do you want me to say? You’re right. It isn’t the same. If I’m being perfectly honest, it may never be the same. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”

“Carm, you know that if I could go back‒”

“You can’t.”

Laura exhales, ostensibly to calm herself, but can’t mask the slight trembling of her voice. “How long are you going to hold this over me?”

Carmilla’s jaw clenches, and her entire body goes rigid. “Laura,” she says, her voice dangerously quiet, “Mattie is dead.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Laura yells, finally breaking down. “Don’t even say it. I know she’s dead because of me. I know that!” Furious tears stream down her cheeks. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t wish I had done things differently.”

Carmilla was shaking her head before Laura had even finished. “It’s not enough.”

“What would be enough? Tell me!” Laura didn’t think she’d ever cried like this before, all hot and angry and devastated. “Every night I see her dying and I have to live with knowing that I’m the reason that she’s gone. It’s torture. Every second. Is that enough for you?”

“Laura, you don’t understand. You can’t.”

“Then _help_ me understand, Carmilla. Please.”

_Three hundred years of friendship. Can you even imagine?_

“Mattie was the only one who was ever good to me for all those years. When I was turned, she stayed with me. After the coffin, she stayed with me. After you and I ended things, she stayed with me. No matter what I was going through, no matter how infantile or asinine, she would always listen to me and then try her best to help, in her own way. She was there when I needed her, and that was more than I could have ever asked for.”

_We saw Elektra in Paris in 1709, the ruins of Pompeii. We watched the moon landing._

“She was the only happiness I had for centuries. _Centuries_ . You can’t even begin to comprehend that kind of devotion. She was my everything. She was my _sister_.” Carmilla was shaking. “And she loved me, unworthy as I was.”

 _All those memories, all that life to end like this?_  

“I held my sister in my arms as she took her final breath, and I knew what you’d done, and I still loved you. So much. I loved you, and my sister was dead, and it felt like both of those things couldn’t be true at the same time but they were. I loved you and my sister was _dead_.” Remember to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. “And the worst part was, even though you pulled the trigger, I loaded the gun.”

_For what?_

“So no. You will _never_ understand how that feels.”

_For you?_

Silence, as they stared at each other, chests heaving, breath hitching.

“Okay,” Laura finally whispered. “Okay.”

“I know you aren’t the only one to blame,” Carmilla murmured. “But we both made choices, and we both have to answer for them.”

Laura took a step towards Carmilla. “How?”

“I don’t know.”

She was close now. “We can’t keep punishing ourselves.” Her hands were reaching, but hesitant, stopping just short of Carmilla’s. “It won’t bring her back.”

A sob leaves Carmilla’s throat, and that’s it. The barrier is broken. She cries and cries and cries and Laura takes her hands and cries with her, and finally Carmilla looks up at Laura and she doesn’t have to say a word but Laura can see it in her eyes.

Forgiveness.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

From New York they catch a long flight to Cancun, and from there they take a very bumpy, swervy Uber to their hotel in Tulum.

Well, “hotel” is probably a strong word for it.

The rooms are really just square huts, with enough room for one bed, a shower, and little else. And the best part is that they’re right on the beach, mere yards away from the ocean. A hammock, tied between two palm trees, swings gently in the breeze.

By the time they arrive and get settled, the sun is setting. Tulum is a coastal town two hours south of Cancun that is only just starting to become developed, and what isn’t directly on the water or in the town center is all jungle. So for dinner they find a taqueria quite literally in the middle of the jungle and spend the evening devouring tacos al pastor and swatting mosquitos from their ankles.

The relative stress of the evening leaves them both vowing to spend the entirety of the next day at the beach, so this is what they do. As usual Laura wakes up first, and she barely even kisses Carmilla good morning before donning her red-and-white polka dot bikini, slathering on sunscreen, and running outside.

Naturally, Carmilla is slower to rise. When she finally saunters out in her black bikini, she is perfectly content to watch Laura frolicking in the waves from the safety of the hammock, with her well-worn Camus in hand. That is, of course, until Laura runs over all sun-kissed and windswept... and scoops Carmilla up and out of the hammock.

“Laura!” Carmilla shrieks.

Ignoring her violent protests, Laura laughs and swings Carmilla over her shoulder and runs back down to the ocean with her. When she reaches the line where sand meets water she doesn’t stop, instead plowing straight forward into the clear turquoise. Foam splashes up and catches in Carmilla’s hair, and she has only seconds to shut her eyes before she’s flipped back over and submerged.

The sea is warm around her, and Carmilla’s heart seizes in panic. Underwater, eyes shut, in the darkness, she’s plunged straight back into the coffin. She inhales and salt fills her lungs and it tastes like blood and then Laura’s pulling her up and out and into air and she coughs and splutters and staggers and nearly falls, eyes stinging.

Laura recognizes the haunting in Carmilla’s eyes and steps back, though Carmilla knows all she wants to do is touch and hold and kiss her. But after lots of trial and error, they’ve found that this is the best (and sometimes the only) way for her to recover.

Carmilla turns and walks out of the water. She finds a spot on the sand and sits there in silence.

Eventually Laura comes and sits beside her. She’s crying and doing her best to hide it. Carmilla can’t tell her it’s all right because it isn’t, not really. But she can’t be mad at her either.

“I’m sorry,” Laura says.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Laura says.

“I should have known better,” Laura says.

Carmilla says nothing, only nods. Laura falls silent.

She doesn't know how many minutes pass before Laura gets up and walks away, but it feels like an eternity.

She stares out at the ocean for hours, watching it go from cyan to sunset orange to pale twilight purple. The sun dries the water on her skin. When it's done with that, it begins to burn her. But she still feels cold to the core.

That night, in the tiny hotel room, Laura rubs aloe vera gel on the screaming red skin of Carmilla’s shoulders and back in slow, rhythmic circles. Carmilla shudders with pleasure as the gel spreads euphoric coolness across her skin.

Laura ceases the motion of her hands, a certain familiar feeling building in the pit of her stomach.

Carmilla doesn’t know why Laura stops. All she knows is that the blissful cool is gone, and her back is begging for its return. She can’t help it. A desperate whine forces its way out of her throat.

Now it's Laura's turn to shudder.

Some little voice in the part of her brain not swayed by sensuality reminds her that Carmilla is in terrible pain, and she manages to pick up the tube of aloe again. She squeezes a dot of gel onto the palm of her hand.

As the gel makes contact with Carmilla's skin, Carmilla lets out a moan of pleasure. Laura's abdomen buzzes.

She can't take it anymore.

With a careful hand she brushes aside the few wisps of Carmilla's hair that are still clinging to her back and lowers her lips to the nape of Carmilla's neck. A patch of white in a sea of red. Unburnt.

“I’m _sorry,”_ she whispers against the skin.

Carmilla gasps.

Laura will never stop loving that sound.

They've planned to visit Chichén Itzá the next day. Laura is packing a few of their belongings when Carmilla emerges from the bathroom. She is wearing a truly ridiculous wide-brimmed sunhat and huge sunglasses, and is doused in sunscreen.

Laura takes one look at her and bursts out laughing.

Carmilla glowers at her. "I'm not taking any more chances."

* * *

After Mexico, it’s a straight shot down to Rio, Brazil, where they marvel in the presence of the towering figure of Christ the Redeemer at sunset. Laura is struck with a strange horror by the vast openness surrounding them. She feels like screaming not just because she is afraid but because the openness makes her want to fly, to soar right up into the sky and sun. Her heart beats wild and she is terrified, terrified at the thought of falling over the edge and down the steep hillside, but mostly terrified at how much she wants to grab Carmilla’s hand and leap over the side and fly with her. And something tells her that they could do it, too. If they jumped, right now, they could fly. They _would_ fly. They’ve done crazier things before, haven’t they? Fought a demigod and an actual god, loved each other, lost each other, killed and kissed and lived and died. So who’s to say that right here, right now, they couldn’t soar past Christ’s blank eyes and into the heavens?

Carmilla can sense her restlessness, can recognize the hunger in her eyes. She takes her hand and squeezes gently. Not to ground her, but to remind her that there are some things that are better left unknown.

* * *

The next two months are a whirlwind. They visit three cities in three countries in that time. First to Sydney, Australia, where they not only take photos in front of but also see a show inside the famous Sydney Opera House. Then almost straight up north to Tokyo, Japan, where they walk amongst the brilliant billboards more electric and colorful than even Times Square had been and eat more ramen than is probably considered healthy. Then west to Agra, India, where they visit the Taj Mahal and both pass out from the heat in two separate instances.

And then, just like that, a year is gone. They’ve visited every city on the list.

They’re headed home.

* * *

Styria feels even smaller than Laura remembers it. Her father, his house, the street she grew up on… if it all was stifling before, it is positively suffocating now that she's had a glimpse of what’s beyond it. She can barely stand the sight of the mailbox and the long, winding road leading away from it to the equally tiny and equally oppressing town. When she falls asleep at night in the twin bed she used as a teenager, Carmilla wedged tightly against her so as not to fall off, she dreams of Paris lights and Montreal murals and flying over the hills of Rio de Janeiro.

Carmilla doesn't seem to mind the transition much, but then again she’s used to all this. Going around, seeing the world, and coming back to Styria. She slips easily into routine calm, almost like it was just two days after everything ended rather than 365, almost like the incredible journey they’d just taken never happened. It’s a little frustrating for Laura, who still wakes up in the morning expecting not to recognize the ceiling, only to find it’s the same one she’d seen for eighteen years straight and be filled with a vague feeling somewhere between depression and dread.

One day, a week after their return, Laura is on her way to get a drink from the kitchen and walks through the living room while Carmilla is reading Camus on the window seat overlooking the backyard. At the doorframe linking the living room with the hallway, Laura pauses and looks back at her. The mid-afternoon light shines through the glass and lands on her face in just the right way, and for an instant she looks so young. For an instant she’s eighteen, really eighteen and not just suspended in the body of an eighteen-year-old. She is the child that was robbed from her.

Tears form in Laura’s eyes. She forgets her drink entirely, walking instead to the downstairs bathroom and locking herself inside.

As she cries, sitting on the closed toilet lid, all she can think is that Carmilla deserves more than this. She deserves so much more than this.

So that night, they have the talk.

And the next day, they pack their bags.

And the next day, they leave Styria for good.

* * *

When Carmilla blinks awake, she’s at first unsure of where she is. She glances around at the unfamiliar walls, at their half-unpacked suitcases and the clothes strewn on the floor, at the still-wrapped souvenirs from their travels haphazardly placed on the newly assembled IKEA bookshelf, and remembers.

They decided to settle in Toronto. Laura had apparently always been intrigued by the city, and Carmilla had spent hardly any time there in her many years. They both liked the idea of discovering a new city together, a city that was new to both of them.

It doesn't quite feel like home yet, but the possibility of it is there, lingering in her periphery.

“Hey.”

She turns at the sound of the sleepy voice and there’s Laura, eyes squinting up to see her.

Carmilla smiles. “Hey.”

Laura pushes herself up to a sitting position and rubs her eyes. She yawns and rests her head on Carmilla’s shoulder.

“We did it,” she murmurs. Her voice is still thick with sleep.

Carmilla takes her hand, interlocks fingers, squeezes. “We did it.”

She still can’t believe it happened, that they really truly did it. The very thing she had talked about, had wanted so truly and deeply, what felt like years ago.

_Could we just pretend, just for tonight, that if I’d asked, we’d run away?_

_We’d find some way to leave and just go, somewhere without murders or sisters._

_We’d sleep in hotel rooms and never live in the same city twice._

_There’d be no one to fail or disappoint or save._

_It would just be you and me_

_in love._

They’re silent for a moment, soaking in the warmth of each other and the early-morning sun.

“Do you…” Laura begins, but trails off.

Carmilla turns her head to look at her. “Do I what, sweetheart?”

She speaks quickly. “Do you think that maybe we could do it again? Traveling, I mean.” She glances at Carmilla, but quickly averts her eyes to the blankets covering their legs. “And not right away, obviously. We’d spend some time here first, get our stuff settled and everything, finish school. And _then_  we could go.”

Carmilla is silent.

“We don't have to,” Laura says quickly. “But I just thought, you know, there's so much left to _see_.”

So much left to see. So much. The whole world at their disposal. How could she say anything other than “Yes.”

Laura blinks. “Really?”

“Laura.” Carmilla laughs, and Laura’s stomach flips. Her name always sounds better in Carmilla’s voice. “After everything, you really should know this by now.”

When you're immortal, the world is a small and stifling place. Carmilla has seen everything and been everywhere and it all felt the same, all the time. But now, here, with Laura… all the light and life is back. All the novelty, all the surprise and shock and awe. She’s made the world worth it again.

Carmilla reaches a hand out to touch Laura’s cheek. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Laura blushes and smiles shyly, leaning into Carmilla's touch.

“Okay,” she says, after a moment. “Good.” She grins. “Because I still want to go to Ireland and Fiji and Denmark and Mongolia and—”

Laura keeps talking, listing off all the cities and states and countries she can think of, growing more excited (and more awake) by the second, and Carmilla just looks at her and nods and laughs, big and bright. Of course they’ll go. They’ll go everywhere.

Because now she is alive, and Laura is alive, and nothing can hurt them anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed <3
> 
> Side note: I promise to finish the Her AU at some point, but after that I'm not certain I'll write fanfic anymore (or at least for a good while). I've just started college and my life has grown incredibly hectic. It's amazing, and I'm loving every second of it, but I just don't have the time to dedicate to writing anymore, at least not for now. I want to thank you all for supporting me and my writing these past two years. It truly means the world to me.
> 
> As always, you can reach me at nothing-to-that-light.tumblr.com. And don't forget to check out the rest of the art for this story on Kelyn's tumblr (taikoturtle.tumblr.com) <3
> 
> Lots of love,  
> M


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